was giving utterance. She was no longer a suffering woman; but her
soul and her voice were sounding beneath the touch of a great
master-spirit, and giving out a glowing music, compelled by its
master-power.

What an enthusiasm! what an excitement! As with the opera-singer on
the stage, so with all the audience; all separate joy and grief, all
individual passions were swallowed up, and carried away by this
all-absorbing inspiration, and lost in its mighty whirl.

For me, now, there was but one character to follow. How grandly the
stage-heroine went through her part! As if to crush all other emotion,
she flung herself into the character she was portraying, and went
through it wildly and passionately.

She overshadowed her little rival--for Marie was her rival, according
to the plot of the opera--now threatening, now protecting her, as she
was led on by the spirit of the play. Marie shrunk before her, or was
inspired by her; and her delicate, entreating figure helped the
pathos of her voice. Marie, by this time, had utterly lost herself in
her admiration of the great genius who was so impressing her. She gave
out her own voice as an offering to this great power. For its sake she
would have found it impossible to make any mistake in her own singing,
or do anything with her own voice, but just place it at the service of
her companion, as a foil to her grand and glorious one.

When in the play the heroine gave up--as she does in the play--her own
life for the sake of her rival, the act became more magnanimous and
wondrous as being performed for this little delicate Marie, who shrank
from so great a sacrifice.

The prima donna gained all the applause. Indeed, it was right--for it
was her power that had called out all that was great in her delicate
rival. It was she who had inspired her, and made her forget herself
and everything but the notes she must give out, true and pure.

They were both called before the stage after the grand closing scene;
or rather the prima donna drew forward the retiring Marie. Shouts and
peals of enthusiasm greeted the queen of song. But her moment of
exaltation had passed away. Over and over again she was repeating to
herself, "Will they never let me go home? Perhaps he is dying now--he
wants me--I am too late!"

She was at the summit of her greatness; but oh! it was painful to
see her there--to see how she would have hushed all those wild,
enthusiastic shouts for the sake of one fresh chil